


Cross The Line

by DarkVioletSunset



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:20:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28540218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkVioletSunset/pseuds/DarkVioletSunset
Summary: We're never ready for change when the time comes, but it inevitably happens no matter how much you try to pretend it won't.Hot Rod just wants to live his life. It's not easy, but it's Nyon. Times may not have been good, but it was simpler. Deadlock wants to live his life too, but his refusal of the status quo pushes him to drastic measures. When war finally breaks out, all they can think of is of the "what if?"Over the course of the war, Deadlock and Hot Rod meet, on purpose and accidently. Both are stubborn and convinced they're the ones that are in the right. One thing they never counted on was the fact that people (and situations) change.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod, Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	1. From One Headache to Another

It had taken a long time, but Hot Rod was finally feeling confident with his job security. He let himself hum a made-up tune on his drive to the mansion this evening. While it sucked working the night shift, nothing could ruin his mood now that Agitator (what a perfect name for such an aft!) had confirmed his resignation from his position as guard captain. Ever since Hot Rod has walked through the door of the guard house, Agitator had seemingly made it his mission to try to either catch him slipping up, or attempting to cause him to slip up. If something went wrong, the captain tried to force the blame on Hot Rod. 

The only thing that kept him from getting fired was the fact that Senator Highgale insisted on micromanaging every aspect in his life, including his body guards. The hired hands around the mansion rumored that just because Highgale transformed into some super computer, he thought he could involve himself in everything. That he felt he was too smart to let anyone else do the work for him. That going back now would show weakness, asking for help would be admitting a loss of control. 

Whatever the reason, Highgale always dismissed Agitator’s pleas to fire Hot Rod with, “I’m currently too busy to interview other candidates to take his place.” 

The last call concerning Hot Rod’s employment at the mansion had resulted in an actual dispute between Agitator and Highgale. 

“Well, has he killed another employee?!” The senator raised his voice just a little too high to pass as calm. 

“N-no sir. He’s incompetent and causes trouble and is loud and-“ Agitator tried to make him see his way. 

“Then he’s fine! He can at least scream for help if he spots someone coming in! I have much to do, and I would appreciate it if you would only come to me with real issues!” 

Maybe Highgale really was losing his mind to all the busywork he gave himself, if the pitch of his words was anything to go by. 

The small speester’s tires squealed against the road as he slid through the gates. The garish mansion wasn’t even the senator’s biggest one, this one here in Nyon had been called ‘his country home.’ 

Disgusting. 

Hot Rod had barely survived long enough to even get this job. Scraping by on the worst energon or anything similar enough that he could afford. He hated having to work for the fragger, but he needed to live. Nyon was unforgiving like that. Like swinging a shiny toy just out of reach. Except if the toy was a mansion with cushy living and was way more than ‘just out of reach.’ 

Someday, he be able to help. Able to get the street urchins and homeless mechs under a strong roof with a good cube in their servo. Those people were the life of Nyon, and Nyon deserved so much more than to be left as filthy masses unable to fend for themselves. Every time Hot Rod saw a flashy or gaudy mech (which was quite often at Highgale’s) he would cringe, and wonder how much shanix they had stashed away, literally unable to spend it all. 

Life was looking a little bit more up. As long as Hot Rod got paid, he didn’t care what Highgale did. It’s not like he would be doing anything different anytime soon. And now, there would be no overbearing guard captain with a strange chip on his shoulder to bother him. 

Highgale was visiting his mansion in Nyon after returning from Iacon, so currently, nearly all the guards in his employ were in the area. However, the guards rarely ever actually saw each other, thanks to a strange rule that had them staying just out of sight as they roamed the building. The only thing Hot Rod had heard in these few hours was the footsteps from the other guards patrolling the hallways with him. The clicks from their pedes was the only assurance that he was not alone. Well, that, and the ridiculous number of cameras set up. 

He let his mind wander as he went about his route for what seemed like the fiftieth time that night. The gilded columns sparkled in the dim lighting, like it was trying to remind Hot Rod that they were worth more than his life. Whenever he could afford a new paint job, he wanted to get his yellow highlights a bit brighter to contend with the gold of this stupid house. 

Hot Rod was going to look awesome when he someday got the armor and frame overhaul he so desperately needed. His paint would shine, his seams wouldn’t snag anymore when he transformed, and pauldrons would finally sit right on his shoulders. One day, people would mistake him for a Prime, he would look so good. 

He paused on that last thought. Yeah, he wanted to look good, but he didn’t want to look like a Prime. Those were the worst of all. Demanding worship like they were Primus themselves. Was there even an actual Matrix anymore? Who knows. The current Prime had refused to show his Matrix, saying it was only for those deemed holy. 

Hot Rod stopped and listened, unsure why his processor was screaming danger. There was no sound. 

Something was wrong. 

There should be sound. At least the echoes of footfalls of the others or the soft purring of their engines idling. But there was nothing. 

That’s why there was danger. 

He pressed himself up against the wall behind a column, making himself as flat as possible to avoid anything that was coming his way. There was still no noise coming from the surrounding hallways, and there was nothing he could see to the left, so slowly, he peeked around the column he was hiding behind to see if anything was to his right. The column was so large, he had to leave the safety of the wall at his back. 

That was his first mistake, he would admit later. The second mistake was his lack of ability to multitask. The speedster was so focused on trying to get a visual on the perceived danger, he forgot to keep listening for said danger. A danger that had suddenly captured him from behind and holding a knife to his throat, with the second arm wrapped across his chassis. Whoever this was, he was nearly twice Hot Rod’s size. His servos shot up and grasped the wrist of his attacker in an attempt to avoid death a little longer. 

“You finally noticed, huh?” A gravelly voice asked. 

Hod Rod tried to play it cool. “Yeah, it’s kinda hard to miss a guy that kills the mood.” 

The arm on his chest tightened, making several errors pop up on his HUD as his armor crumpled. “We got a funny guy here, huh? They must be paying you out the aft for you to be so cocky.” 

“Nope! That’s a Primus given gift. Jealous?” A little more... 

“You talk too much.” The voice right beside his face now. 

Living on the streets had taught Hot Rod how to trust and use his instincts effectively. The fact that this intruder paused to talk to him revealed his inexperience, and slight hesitation to kill. The mech might have killed some of the other guards, but it didn’t appear he had been doing it for long. This uncertainty gave Hot Rod enough time act on his instincts. When his servos automatically grabbed the one at his throat with a knife, there was a plan behind that as well. He had done some self modding of his own for protection. Being the little mech on the streets forced him to get creative. 

Outliers were dangerous. That’s what the Senate would like you to believe, that is. If someone was suspected, you might never see them again when enforcers came looking. It was best you keep your abilities under wraps if you valued your life. Thankfully, most of the mechs that Hot Rod dealt with on the streets were not completely sober when he had to defend himself, and didn’t remember why they had burns the next day. 

Unlike this time. 

But he’d rather take his chances instead of getting his head separated from his body. 

Flames burst out from his makeshift pipes on his forearms, pointed right at the mech’s head. It was probably more shock rather than pain that made the intruder release him and back off, which still left Hot Rod in a better situation than before. 

He spun around to meet his enemy and took a defensive stance with his arms outstretched, ready to spit more fire if that’s what got him out of here alive. 

The mech stood back, his yellow optics flickering while he rubbed his scorched finials. He was tall, with a sharp looking helm, and grey and black highlights on white armor. The slate grey faceplate looked surprised, none of the anger from before showing. 

“You... you’re an outlier.” He said dumbly. 

“Wow, five points for you! Quick, call the enforcers! Wait, then you would be calling them on yourself!” Hot Rod needed to work on his one liners. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Alright, this was a conversation now. “I work here as a guard. What are you doing here?” 

“I’m here to assassinate the senator.” 

“Uh, wow. That’s quite the confession.” 

“Why are you protecting Highgale? I would've thought he would have had you scrapped when they found out you were an outlier.” 

“He doesn’t need to know about my whole life.” 

The mech stepped forward slowly, with an what was supposed to be a friendly smile forming on his face. “So you’re still hiding, huh? Wouldn’t it be nice if you didn’t have to?” 

Hot Rod continued to point his arms at the advancing mech. “Look, even if you kill me, the cameras will see you. You’re done for when the enforcers look through the video feed.” 

“I disabled them. It’d be stupid to not cover my tracks in any way I can.” 

Frag. He was going to die and no one would be able to tell who did it. Not that anyone would care to look. Highgale would be the only mech that would get recognition, the rest of the guards would probably be thrown in an unmarked scrap pile. 

Hot Rod laughed nervously. “Well, aren't you a smart bot.” 

“Did you know that the mech you’re working for wants to clear the streets of Nyon?” 

“...What?” 

“He wants to get the homeless mechs off the street.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?” 

“Not what he’s proposing. Highgale literally wants to kick the homeless out of Nyon.” 

“What? Where did you hear that?” 

The stranger scowled. “Didn’t you read the news? It was announced that the senate is allowing Highgale to oversee ‘the cleaning of Nyon.’ It’s just vague enough to let him interpret how to deal with the street mechs. And let’s be honest, you know that interpretation won’t be in their favor. It’s not completely passed yet, but it only needs a little more of a push, and those rich slag-eaters are this close to passing the order.” 

Hot Rod was shaking now. Not just out of fear for his life in this moment, but now for his life out there. He still couldn’t afford an actual house, paying mechs just to sleep in a covered part of an alleyway was a good night. He ran a quick search on the extranet to see if what this mech said held any truth. While the headlines tried to make it seem like it was a new, wonderful thing for Nyon, Hot Rod could see through the buzzwords. How the words 'getting the homeless off the streets’ meant driven out of the city. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Hot Rod’s voice probably betrayed how he felt about this information. 

The mech was very close now. “Because I think you’re better suited for other things. Like working with me and my buddies.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“You’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. I can guarantee you’ll fit in better with Megatron’s group.” 

“The gladiator?” 

“Yes, that one. The world is going to change, and he’s going to lead it. No more of these rich, out of touch mechs calling the shots. Megatron fights for the working class, the discarded. Even the outliers.” 

He had heard of Megatron’s group. They called themselves ‘The Decepticons.’ The rallying cry of ‘You are being deceived’ sounded more relevant to Hot Rod than it ever had before. 

A panicked shout from the floor below made both look in the direction it came from. Hot Rod realized that they didn’t have much time before the white mech was found out. 

“I won’t join you. But,” he continued before the mech in front of him could react. “I won’t stop you. Fighting the system... well, it’s a lot. I’m not prepared for something like that.” 

The stranger frowned. “There’s going to come a time when you don’t have a choice.” 

“Then come looking for me when that happens.” Hot Rod gave a confident grin and held out his servo in a gesture of solidarity. 

The mech took it in his own. “What’s your name?” 

“Hot Rod, don’t forget it!” 

“Deadlock, and I don’t plan to.” 

Suddenly, the newly introduced mech pulled Hot Rod forward roughly into an elbow to the face. The poor speedster flailed, confused on what was happening, and dropped to the floor. Deadlock kicked him in the side of the chassis, pulled out a large pistol, and examined it like it was now the most interesting thing in the room. “Can’t have anyone thinking you were in on this, right? Now, black out for a little bit. You never saw me.” 

The butt of Deadlock’s gun was the last thing Hot Rod remembered that night. 

\----- 

Highgale was dead. Murdered in his own room with a Decepticon sign carved onto the side of his berth. Many of his guards were either incapacitated or killed, the ones that weren’t were immediately placed under suspicion of collaborating with the assassin. 

Hot Rod awoke with damage alerts pinging him, coming from all over his frame. His helm was especially killing him. The doctor he woke up with didn’t pay him much attention because he knew the injured speedster didn’t have the money to pay. Hot Rod was promptly kicked out as soon as the doctor deemed him ‘good enough.’ 

Deadlock was never found or even incriminated. Hot Rod never told anyone what happened. For one bright second, Nyon seemed breathe a little easier, knowing that one of its corrupt politicians wasn’t planning its demise. Its people might not be safe, but there was one less problem in the world.


	2. Fire on the Horizon

In a run down bar at the end of a busy street, Hot Rod had been enjoying some hard earned engex. It burned as he knocked it back because of its cheapness, but nothing tasted better than the fruits of his labors. He was chatting with the bartender, Vorpal, who was very familiar with the fiery speedster thanks to his frequent visits. Vorpal was a large, green transport helicopter that enjoyed the simpler things in life, like being allowed to do more than transport cargo. Bartending was more of a side job that he was only able to work at a few times a month, but he always could be counted on to bring a good mood with him. It was his passion for basic mixology that originally had Hot Rod trying to talk to him while at the bar. One could tell Vorpal just loved being there. 

“Vorp!” Hot Rod shouted across the bar, “hook a mech up with another Pit Spritz!” He held up his glass to emphasize his point. 

The large bartender lumbered across the bar good naturedly. “I dunno, Rod, you’re pretty small, and enough of those could even knock me on my aft.” 

The colorful speedster pouted, “I’m not that small, you’re just too big!” 

Vorpal chuckled, never intending to deprive Hot Rod of a drink. “I jest, I jest. Coming right up!” 

It was always enjoyable to watch Vorpal mix drinks. With a flick of his wrist, he poured the engex together with some metal flakes for flavor. After sealing the mixing tins together, he shook the ingredients together vigorously, finishing off with a trick where he bounced them off his spinning blades on his back. As he poured it into the glass, he proclaimed in a sing-song voice, “One Pit Spritz for Hot Rod!” 

It wasn’t top shelf, but it was good engex. Hot Rod ran back to his small group of friends with his newly acquired drink. Hot Rod’s fellow street mechs, Quickturn and Current, would always gather at this bar to wind down whenever they had scraped a few shanix to spend. Bonus if Vorpal was at the bar, he would sometimes even join in by taking the occasional shot with them. Tonight was busy, however, and Hot Rod was just lucky he was able to get another drink before getting crushed by the mechs surrounding the bar. 

Life wasn’t easy, but it was good. 

\----- 

Hot Rod had seen it coming. Pit, he was warned it was coming. 

The system was falling apart, and the two percent that ran everything was trying to forcefully ‘convince’ everyone else everything was fine. The main problem was that Megatron’s rhetoric was gaining traction faster than the senate could reassure the populace the Decepticons were in the wrong. The common mech was waking up. 

Zeta Prime had only been Prime for a short while, but he had already been the most controversial Prime since his predecessor, Sentinel. He had drawn the working class in, promising he would fight for them, then turning on them like the oily cog he truly was. Thanks to the mandatory Decepticon Registration Act he had passed early on in his reign, it was hard for anyone to hide. Everyone that had identified as Decepticon or even a sympathizer at one point was in danger of disappearing, singled out by Zeta and his enforcers. 

It hadn’t been bad at first in Nyon, basically following the don’t ask don’t tell rule. The media mostly portrayed the Decepticons as terrorists that needed putting down, or denied that shady deaths were commanded by the Prime. Hot Rod was busy trying to live day to day, so he missed a lot of what the politicians outside his city were doing. 

It was just like every other night at the bar when trouble in the form of Zeta’s enforcers came to Nyon. 

Current was being stupid, taking a dare from Hot Rod and trying to balance engex on his helm while attempting to drink another beverage. Hot Rod and Quickturn were laughing loudly at the scene, drawing Vorpal’s attention over as he passed by. “If you spill that, you’re all cut off.” He threatened. 

“I won’t spill! I have perfect balance!” Current countered. 

“Maybe if you were on the water! Boats aren’t meant to be on land!” Hot Rod interjected. 

“Yeah,” Quickturn shuffled over with his servos out, “bet you can’t stay up if I do this!” Fully intending to push his friend over. 

Before Quickturn could enact his plan, the large helicopter grabbed him by his back kibble and held him in the air. “Now I know you’ve had too much. You’re trying to make a mess that I have to clean up!” 

“Aw, come on, Vorp! I wasn’t actually going to knock him down.” 

In the end, Vorpal told them to behave and he would bring them another round. The three of them sat around the table, warmed by the engex and the horseplay. It had been a good night so far, and they planned to enjoy it before returning to work the next day. 

Nothing could ruin their night. 

Almost nothing. 

The bar went silent suddenly, drawing attention to the entrance of the bar, where a group of three enforcers were now standing ominously. They began to walk slowly to the bar, looking straight ahead, never wavering in their focus, only stopping when they reached their destination. Trying to keep some semblance of normalcy in the bar, Vorpal approached them like he would any other customer. “Hello, what can I get you?” 

The enforcers’ visors flashed when he spoke, and the one in front addressed the helicopter in a monotone voice. “Are you Vorpal of Nyon?” 

The mech in question hesitated, clearly confused by the query. “I… yes, I am. Why?” 

“You’re under arrest for convolution with Decepticons and suspected illegal distribution of weaponry.” 

One could hear a pin drop in the bar. There was no movement from any of the patrons or the bartender, only stunned silence. Hot Rod was the first to speak up. “Hey now, there’s no way you have the right mech. Vorpal wouldn’t be a Decepticon ever.” He sauntered over to rest his elbows on the bar top. 

“It’s ok, Hot Rod. They’re not wrong.” 

The speedster looked up in surprise. “What?” 

“I am a Decepticon.” 

Once again, the bar fell silent, only broken by the lead enforcer. “You are required to turn yourself in as part of the Decepticon Registration Act. Because you have failed to do so, you are under arrest. You have complied to this arrest; it will be noted in the official report.” 

Vorpal drew himself up to his full height and brought his rotors up in a V position over his shoulders. Weapons popped out of his arms and whined as they heated up. “You misunderstand, I won’t be going peacefully.” 

Right before the enforcers pulled weapons of their own out, Current jumped up. “I’m a Decepticon!” 

Hot Rod whirled around, thinking Current was joking to distract them, but faltered when he saw the expression on his face. “Current…?” 

“If you’ve come for him, you’re here for me too.” Current threw a glass at the cops, shattering it on the side of one of their helms. 

Hot Rod couldn’t move. His world was beginning to crumble, and he couldn’t stop it. In what felt like slow motion, he watched an enforcer swing an arm around holding a pistol and shoot his friend in the chest. “Assaulting an officer is against the law.” 

There was a beat where no one moved, the shock palpable. Hot Rod threw himself at his fallen friend, screaming his name in a panic. Vorpal roared, letting loose a barrage of bullets into the group of enforcers. The rest of the bar patrons grabbed whatever they could use as a weapon and charged at the enforcers, who began to shoot in earnest. The common mechs began to fall, because the government mechs were outfitted with military grade armor and weapons that none of the mechs of Nyon were prepared for. 

Quickturn kicked a table over in front of Hot Rod and Current in an attempt to protect them. 

“No, no. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” Hot Rod sobbed. 

“Didn’t… want you.. to worry.” Current stuttered between vents. “I’m a small boat, useless to Zeta and the Senate. I didn’t have much longer before they came looking for me anyway.” 

His fingers began to grey out, slowly spreading across his body. Current smiled slightly though the pain, “Both of you… don’t let them win, alright?” Finally, his optics flickered for the final time, going dark as the rest of his frame went grey. 

Tearing his optics away from his dead friend, Hot Rod looked up over the edge of the table. The gunfire continued around them. Vorpal wasn’t going to last much longer, now supporting himself against the wall while energon leaked from various wounds in his frame. One of the enforcers was now greyed out under the bar top, but the other two were crouched in the center of the room behind a table of their own, very much alive and continuing to shoot. 

Hot Rod saw red. A burning, hot red. 

He stood, teeth bared and flames beginning to jump from between his fingers. With a battle cry that drew the attention of everyone in the room, Hot Rod charged towards their enemies with his servos stretched towards them. The enforcers nearly turned their guns on him, but Vorpal had somehow cleared the bar to reach over the makeshift barricades to jerk the guns upwards at the last klik, allowing the fiery speedster to jump on top of them. 

By the time Hot Rod was on top of the enforcers, his arms were covered in flames, and his servos were white hot with the contained heat. He stood on their legs to bring himself up to their level and screamed, “GET OUT!” and placed a servo on each of their faces. 

The heat was so intense, the enforcers’ faceplates immediately began to drip with molten metal seeping between his fingers. Hot Rod dug his digits into their optics, forcing them as deep as they could go and kept them there until they both ceased struggling. When he was sure they were greying out, he began to release the fire in his servos. 

The speedster was still for a moment, the gravity of what he had done beginning to crush him. He didn’t even realize he was shaking until Quickturn came over and gingerly began to peel his friend’s servos off the dead enforcer’s faces. “Hey, hey. It’s over. They’re gone.” 

Even Vorpal was still holding the cop’s weapons, stunned at the turn of events. “Hah... didn’t know you could do that.” His vents sounded labored with each word. A few surviving mechs in the bar collected the helicopter to take him to a medic. 

It wasn’t until later that Hot Rod learned Vorpal’s wounds were too extensive for a back alley doctor to tend to. He had died less than a day later. 

It was over. Zeta Prime had brought trouble to Nyon’s doorstep. Vorpal and Current didn’t deserve this, they weren’t terrorists. All they wanted was to be seen for more than their alt modes, and had seen the Decepticons as their only option. 

Hot Rod wasn’t a born fighter, but he could not leave Nyon alone. 

\----- 

Deadlock jumped from rooftop to rooftop as quietly as he could. The eerie silence that hung over the city was the complete opposite from the last time he was in Nyon. It felt like the city was dead. No, that wasn't quite right. It felt like the city was pretending to be dead. Or covered in a shroud. 

When Nyon had been forced into the fray, it only took an orbital cycle and a half for Zeta himself to turn a good chunk of his forces towards the city because the insurgents had been giving himself so much trouble. Some Decepticon intel even suggested that he was trying to utilize a secret weapon that had been designed by Jhiaxus himself. Whatever the weapon was, the idea that something made by the mad scientist could be weaponized was terrifying. 

As per Megatron’s order, Deadlock was to attempt to recruit the insurgency of Nyon to the Decepticons and promise them protection. They had a rough idea where the rebels gathered thanks to their neutral standpoint on Decepticons, but those on the inside were still wary of revealing their actual location. Leaving Deadlock to search possible sites for the past few days. 

But it seemed that his endless searching was finally bearing fruit when he spotted a motorcycle driving around one of the suspected areas. He was running as quietly as his engine would allow him, only further confirming Deadlock’s suspicion this was probably one of the rebels trying to stay under the radar. After tailing the motorcycle for a little while, he decided it was time to speed things up. 

With a flip off the railing he was currently running along, he landed right in front of the other mech, who in turn transformed into root mode with his servos held in surrender. 

“Whoa whoa. I’m not trying to start any trouble here. I’m just looking around” The mech began. 

Deadlock snorted. “Do I look like one of Zeta’s? I’m not here for trouble either, rebel. I’m trying to find a way into your base. I’ve been sent by Megatron.” 

The motorcycle slowly lowered his servos. “You’re a Decepticon?” 

“What did I just say? Why would Megatron send someone that’s not a Decepticon?” 

“OK. Sorry, it’s just hard to believe that he would send someone to Nyon.” 

“Take me to your base. I need to speak to your leader.” 

The mech stood still, comming someone on the inside. When he got an answer, he told Deadlock, “OK, I’ll take you there. It’s this way.” They both transformed and drove off. 

From the rooftops, Nyon looked dead, but from the streets, Nyon looked desecrated. There was no one out and about, and all the stores and home looked like the doors had been kicked in. To add insult to injury, there were bodies of mechs no one could risk retrieving littering the gutters. 

“Where is everyone?” Deadlock asked. 

“If they’re not at one of our bases, then we don’t know. Citizens began disappearing with no explanation and no reason when Zeta sent in extra enforcers. We haven’t been able to find them even among the dead.” 

This was concerning. Megatron hadn’t told him things were this bad in Nyon when he sent him off. Maybe there was some disconnect in their intelligence? 

The two of them transformed back into root mode when they reached a large, seemingly welded shut door. The scout knocked in the center in a complicated series of beats and stood back. With a creak, the door opened at a hidden seam just enough to allow them in. A face appeared from within. 

“Hey, Quickturn! I was surprised when you radioed you were bringing a guest. Come on in.” 

The mech Deadlock now knew as Quickturn motioned him in. The mechs inside looked at their guest with an untrusting look in their optics. After what he’d seen of Nyon, he didn’t blame them. He swept the room, looking for the mech he had run into at his first assassination. That outlier would still be a great asset to the Decepticon Cause if he was still alive. If he couldn’t convince Hot Rod back then, maybe current events would make him see this time. 

What Deadlock wasn’t expecting was to see Hot Rod in what Quickturn referred to as the control room at the head of a table where a holo of Nyon was displayed. He still looked scrawny and lacking in the armor department, but it looked like he had upgraded as best as he could, with heavier protection and better built pipes to funnel his fire. The mechs with him at the table seemed to be in deep discussion. 

“Hot Rod! Hate to interrupt, but we have a visitor.” Quickturn clapped a servo on the leader apparent’s shoulder. 

The speedster turned, surprising Deadlock with the tired look on his face. This was a mech that had seen terrible things in a short amount of time. His expression changed to one of surprise, however, when he recognized the Decepticon standing before him. 

“Deadlock?” 

The assassin couldn’t blame him for questioning his identity. He was now sporting red optics, heavy armor, and enough guns to embarrass an armory. Even his helm now had extra protection along the sides in the form of small yellow and white shields. Somehow, though, Hot Rod had seen through it. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” He affirmed. “Came to talk to the leader of the rebel insurgence of Nyon. Guess that would be you.” 

Hot Rod gave a bark of a laugh. “Yep, how did you ever guess?” He waved a hand to the other mechs at the table. “Give me a minute with Deadlock. I’ll call you back in in a little bit.” 

They both stood unmoving until everyone left the room and closed the door behind them. “So, what can I do for you?” Hot Rod began. 

“Told you I would find you when you didn’t have a choice anymore. So here I am. But it looks like I’m a little late.” Deadlock shrugged with a smirk. 

“Ha! Yep, just a little late. But hey, better late than never.” 

“Well, you hid pretty well.” Deadlock shut down the battle protocols he had been running since arriving in Nyon and relaxed. “I’m here to offer you the protection of the Decepticons.” 

“Hmm. What’s the catch?” 

“You all join the Decepticons.” 

“See, I was afraid of that.” Hot Rod began to walk away towards the table again and leaned back on it with his servos on the edge. “There are still mechs here that don’t agree with Megatron.” 

“Does that include you?” Deadlock followed to stand beside him. 

“I don’t know. All I know is that I wasn’t able to complacently stand by while Zeta destroyed my city. I’m not fighting for anyone except Nyon.” 

“What happened here? We’ve been getting mixed reports since it all went to slag.” 

Hot Rod let out a heavy vent, and told him a story of how a normal night at the bar ended in the death of two of his friends. How he had reacted with such violence it scared him, and how he realized he couldn’t ignore what was happening around him. The little speedster didn’t want to be in charge, but felt responsible for everyone for some reason, taking the mantel of leadership of this rabble to try to fight Zeta’s enforcers. But they weren’t outfitted for such a fight, and they were slowly losing the battle and hope. 

It reminded Deadlock a little of Gasket and his own reaction when the cops had shot him. It hurt to remember him, still. 

Instead of turning to Megatron, however, Hot Rod’s tale differed because he had reached out to Orion Pax. 

“You asked for help from a cop?!” Deadlock couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“He has friends on the inside! He’s been investigating Zeta himself! When Quickturn told me someone had arrived looking to talk to me, I was expecting him. I didn’t think that the Decepticons had gained enough support to send mechs of their own to Nyon.” Hot Rod pushed himself away from the table. “We need help, and we need help fast.” 

The white mech couldn't deny that after seeing the state of the remaining mechs. He rubbed a finial, thinking about his options. “Let me contact Megatron and tell him about the status of Nyon. Maybe we figure something out.” 

“Alright. Just let me know if you have to head out. If you have a direct line to Megatron, I’m sure you’re a busy mech.” 

The two of them chatted about empty subjects after conducting business, feeling a sense of kinship through their experiences, grasping for some relief from the awful surroundings of the dying city. 

Later on in the day, Deadlock opened up a holo and called Megatron when he settled down in an empty corner. After ringing a few times, it was transferred to his least favorite mech in the Decepticons. 

“Deadlock.” The voice dripped with disdain for the assassin when he answered. 

“Starscream. I have news from Nyon.” 

“Are they going to join us?” 

“They're not in any state to do anything. They need to get out of here first. I’m requesting backup to evacuate the survivors.” 

“What, so they can turn on us when they get out? Request denied.” 

“Let me speak to Megatron himself! He sent me here!” 

“I am his Second. What I say can be regarded as a decision from Megatron.” The sneer on Starscream’s stupid face enraged Deadlock. 

“Let me talk to Megatron!” 

To his surprise, the seeker laughed, then agreed to patch him through. “Fine, fine. I will if only for Megatron to turn his anger upon you for insisting on interrupting him.” The holo of Starscream blinked off, and was replaced by the mech Deadlock had been trying to reach originally. 

“Deadlock. I trust you have a good reason for calling me without the results I sent you to Nyon for.” 

“Yes sir. I’m calling because Decepticons need to get here first to evacuate Nyon.” 

“Really. Why us? We aren’t a rescue party.” 

“If Orion Pax gets here first, then we will have already lost.” 

Megatron’s attention was immediately seized at that name. “Orion? Orion is on his way there?” 

Deadlock nodded. “Yes sir. Their leader reached out to him for help a short time ago.” 

“That’s madness! Why would Orion walk into a trap like that?” 

“What?” 

“Zeta Prime has been advancing on Nyon himself with his Omegas. Nyon has little to no time left.” 

Deadlock checked his audials to make sure he heard that correctly. The miner turned warlord figured that the city would be desperate enough now to accept even Decepticon help without a thought. With their hesitation, however, they had unwittingly signed their death warrant if Deadlock couldn’t convince Hot Rod they had to move. 

“Sir, what are your orders?” Deadlock prodded gently. 

“Stay where you are. I will be there in less than a day.” Megatron signed off without a farewell. 

“No!” Hot Rod swept his servo out in a dramatic manner with small flames coming out of his pipes, revealing his emotional state of mind. “We can’t abandon Nyon! I said we needed help! Not evacuation!” 

“You have no choice! There’s no way anyone can fight against Zeta and the Omegas!” Deadlock angrily pleaded with Hot Rod to prepare to leave. 

“Why didn’t you tell me about this when you got here?” 

“I didn’t know until Megatron himself told me!” 

Hot Rod stilled. “He knew. He was going to leave us to die if we didn’t join you.” 

“There has to be more to the story than that!” Deadlock snarled. 

“Oh, is there? Because it sounds like he cares about us about as much as he cares for the senate.” 

“I’m not privy to all of Megatron’s secrets. He’s a master tactician, there’s a reason for everything he does.” 

Hot Rod paced around the room with his face in his servos. “So, there’s no hope.” 

Deadlock approached and gave him a rough shake. “Megatron is on his way to Nyon now. Get everyone ready. We have to go when he arrives.” 

“And when Orion arrives?” The rebel leader shook Deadlock’s servo off him. 

“We’ll figure that out when he gets here. Right now, Nyon needs to you make a decision. If you don’t, you risk losing everything.” 

Hot Rod leaned heavily on his servos over the table with the holo of Nyon and shook his head. “In the end, it doesn’t matter who’s gets here first, does it?” He pressed a button on the table, linking him to a speaker system around the base. “Attention everyone. Zeta Prime is advancing on Nyon. Gather your things, we have to evacuate.” 

Noise rose up from all around, protests and scrambling mechs trying to make sense of it all. 

It was only half a day later when a scout returned, saying that Orion Pax had finally arrived in the city. Deadlock made himself scarce so as not to implicate Hot Rod in any way by accident, but stayed close for when Megatron came. Hot Rod and a few select scouts met Orion a little outside the base. 

“Orion!” Hot Rod exclaimed. “Thank Primus you’re here. Scouts have told me Zeta is on his way with a force we can’t compete against.” He impressed himself with the way the simple lie fell off his lips. 

Orion Pax seemed surprised he knew this. “We only just now discovered that ourselves. His Omegas are equipped with energy absorbing weaponry, and we have reason to believe he’s already equipped the enforcers here with them. You were right to reach out to me. Do you have scouts I can borrow?” 

“Yes sir.” Hot Rod motioned towards his mechs. “Quickturn and a few others here have been keeping tabs on the city for a while now.” 

“We need to them help my mechs to place phase charges around the city.” 

“I - What?” 

“Zeta won’t stop at just killing your people, he will use them as energy for his own malicious means. If all else fails, Nyon must fall.” 

“That can’t be the only option!” 

“I said if all else fails. Let’s pray that it doesn’t come to that.” 

Hot Rod numbly allowed Orion Pax to direct his scouts to set the phase charges. The scouts knew the city well, and knew where the pressure points would be to set it to blow the most effectively. With every step they took, Nyon felt more lost. 

Zeta Prime arrived soon after the final phase charge was set, heralded by the sound of engines overhead and the crash of the giant pedes into the ground as his Omegas dropped from the sky. 

It was then that Hot Rod and Orion discovered where all the citizens of Nyon had been kept. The prisons and jails had been filled with them, and now they were brought out for Zeta to use them as fuel and weapons to destroy Nyon itself. 

The horror was unimaginable, but there was no time to process it. 

Orion and Hot Rod were leading the remaining survivors out, hoping the scouts returned in time to join them. The Omegas were devastating the city, causing irreparable damage. 

:Quickturn, where are you?!: Hot Rod commed his friend. 

:We just finished setting the last charge. On our way to your position!: 

The sound of destruction was everywhere, and there wasn’t a safe street in Nyon left. Right before they made it out of the city, Death himself came for them in the form of Zeta Prime. He landed in front of group, holding his vampiric weapon in front threateningly. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Orion?” 

“Zeta! Stop! You weren’t supposed to be like this!” Orion pleaded. 

“Oh? How was I supposed to be? Like you? A pushover, trusting everyone?” 

“You were supposed to be a Prime!” 

“I am a Prime! I am ten times the Prime that they meant me to be!” He let loose a red beam, but shot overhead at something behind them. Hot Rod watched in horror as the beam engulfed Quickturn and another mech that had just returned to the party. 

There was nothing he could do but watch as the mech’s energy was drained in seconds, leaving them as broken, empty husks. They dropped to the ground, still reaching out and mouths twisted calling for help. 

Hot Rod didn’t turn when he heard the whine of Zeta’s gun powering up to shoot. 

That was when Megatron arrived, cutting in-between Orion Pax and Zeta’s line of fire holding two other mechs by the shoulders. Hot Rod didn’t even have the time to register that the two that Megatron was with were not there by choice before the former miner thrust them at the Prime. 

As living shields for Orion. While the cop immediately voiced his disapproval of Megatron’s methods, the deed was already done. 

At that moment, Hot Rod knew the gladiator would be just as bad as Zeta if given power. 

Zeta retreated soon after that, letting the rest of the group finally escape Nyon. The Omegas were still wreaking havoc in the city, using the citizens as fuel to further their destruction. Orion shoved a switch roughly into Hot Rod’s hand. “Once we are all clear, set it off.” 

“But –“ 

“No, there’s nothing left. Unless you want your fellow Nyonics to be used as living weapons, you’ll press the button. Leaders need to make difficult choices. And it’s better they die by our servo than suffer at Zeta’s.” Orion left Hot Rod on a hill, just overlooking the city. The signal they were out was given a little while later. 

Hot Rod looked at his city one last time, whispered an apology, and set off the explosions. 

Megatron, Orion Pax, and the mechs of Nyon had made the exodus. It had taken time before they left behind the heat of the burning city. If one looked in the direction of Nyon, the fire made it appear like it was a sun just under the horizon. The group was now recuperating and getting any necessary medical attention out of the way before moving on. Hot Rod had gone off to be alone, away from the crowd, unable to face them all after what he was forced to do. The speedster hadn’t moved from his spot at camp for a while. Making sure to make enough noise to alert Hot Rod knew he was coming, Deadlock sat down beside him. 

“Hey.” 

Hot Rod didn’t respond. 

“Megatron and Orion Pax are splitting up soon. Who are you going with?” 

“Orion.” The speedster said without hesitation.

That surprised Deadlock. “He worked for Zeta! He believes that a Prime should still be in charge.” 

“Still better than Megatron.” 

“What do you mean?” Deadlock growled. 

“I saw what he was like back there. He sacrificed my mechs just to save Orion for his own purposes.” 

“He knew what he was doing!” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Hot Rod stood. “You could come with me, instead.” 

“I’ll never trust Orion Pax. It will be Zeta all over again if his side wins.” 

“It will be worse if Megatron takes over.” 

Deadlock truly hated to see Hot Rod so convinced of this. “Then this is where we go our separate ways, huh?” 

“I guess so.” The flame colored mech forced a wide grin on his face. “You’re still welcome to find me later if you change your mind.” 

Even though he was sitting, Deadlock was nearly as tall as Hot Rod while standing. They both offered their servos at the same time, then grasped each other’s forearms in a strong grip. “Same here” 

Neither of them wanted leave the other, but duty called. The two mechs looks back towards the glow of the burning city of Nyon. Each hoping the other would someday see the error of his ways.


End file.
